


Little Lamb

by slowburn0117



Category: Silence of the Lambs - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:39:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowburn0117/pseuds/slowburn0117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Letter was the youngest psychiatrist in his profession, graduating head of his class at 27 and had been a practicing psychiatrist for nearly 5 years when Jack Crawford, a rising star in the FBI's Behavioral Science unit brought his crimes to light. The trial had been sensational and garnered international attention. Jack Crawford became head of the new unit at the prime age of 38 and Lecter was placed in an asylum for the criminally insane. Truth be told, he was to dangerous to be anywhere but a secure cell with thick bullet proof glass walls. </p><p>Clarice Starling entered the academy at age 21, right after graduating Magna from UVA. That was only three years after the Cannibal Case had been done and over. And Jack knows that she is just what the doctor ordered. He will use whatever tool he can to get into the mind of Lecter and stop the country's most recent and brutal serial killer. Starling, eager to please and prove her mantel will do anything she can to help. Even put herself in the sights of an insane killer, who seems to take a liking to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** These characters are not my creation. I simply enjpoy their company from time to time. So quotes are from the movies, altered to fit my story line.
> 
> Hannibal is 35, Crawford is 41, Clarice is almost 22.

CHAPTER 1

Her heart thundered in her chest and her lungs burned as she push her legs faster through the woods. She knew this obstacle course now almost better than the backwoods of her childhood home. She picked up the rope and used it to haul herself up the hill. Once she crested it, the down hill gave her a chance to slow her breathing before to rope ladder. She felt the rope scrap along her ever toughening hands. Callouses forming for running this course daily, not to mention the hand to hand combat and fire arms training. Not that Clarice Starling's hand had ever been soft. Having grown up with a single father tended to give a girl a boyish life. Sweat pours down her face and neck, drenching her sweatshirt. Clarice pulled herself up and over the top rope ladder and flipped over, sliding the rest of the way down. She took off for the rope swing over the muddy pit, that would slow her time down if she fell in. She had learned that lesson already. She leaped and grabbed the rope, swinging easily over the pit and landing with a tuck and roll on the other side. 

"Starling!" A voice shouted. Clarice skidded to a halt and looked for the voice. "Starling!!" It called again. She spun toward the voice and saw one of her instructors the embroider FBI standing out against the deep blue of his ball cap. She jogged over to him.

Director Crawford wants to see you." He said, jerking his head back towards Quantico. She nodded and began the jog back.

"Thank you, sir." She called over her shoulder. The jog to the building was near pleasant compared to the grueling nature of the obstacle course. But Clarice couldn't help but wonder what Director Crawford wanted. She had attended his guest lecture years ago and had been inspired. It was his unit she wanted to join and she hadn't been shy about making that known. She jogged into the building. It was still lunch time so her fellow classmates were still milling about. They got 90 minutes for a meal break, she chose to use it running the course, shower and have a quick protein packed meal. Then back to class for whatever was next. Usually the afternoon was fire arms and combat training or building search. Mostly the class part was early when everyone was bright eyed and awake.

"Hey Clarice!" Her friend and roommate Ardelia gave her a high five as she jogged past, headed for the elevator. She gave the elevator full of instructors a brief smile before cramming her way into the packed car and waiting patiently for her floor, which was the last stop. When the elevator dinged Clarice walked out and headed toward the long row of offices. She glanced into the first open door.

"You looking for Crawford?" The agent behind the desk ask.

"Yes sir." She nodded. He pointed to his left.

"He said he would be right back, go ahead and wait in his office Starling." Crawford must have told them she was expected. For a brief moment she almost regretted that she was in her sweat soaked running gear.

"Thank you, sir." She ducked into Crawford's office. Clarice starred up at the crime board, littered with photos and news clippings about Buffalo Bill, America's newest and brutal serial killer.

"Violence sells," she muttered to herself as she walked the length of the board, taking in as many details as she could. Five victims, all skinned in some fashion. There was before and after photos of the girls. One set of bright and shinning faces, the other horrible bruised and dead eyed. There was a large map that had blue dots and red arrows. Abducted from and body found, Clarice's mind murmured. She never noticed the middle aged man leaning against the door frame, watching her. His black hair had just started to grey at the temples, the thick horn rimmed glasses didn't detracted from the strength and steel of his blue eyed gaze. He wore a nice suit and nice shoes but was more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt. He knocked on the door frame next to his head and watched as she spun aground, a fire in her eyes that calmed when she saw it was him.

"Starling," he said by way of greeting. "Good Morning." She had stood in the at ease position, her hands folded behind her back.

"Good Morning, sir." She returned. He walked into the room and motioned for her to sit, she snake into the visitor chair across fro!m his desk.

"Sorry to pull you off the course early, Starling. Your instructors tell me you run it everyday." He had sat lazily in his own chair. "They tell me you are doing very well. Top quarter of your class." He watched the blush creep up iu into her creamy cheeks. She was perfect.

"I hope so, sir. They haven't posted any grades yet." Her voice was soft, holding a mild Southern accent. He grunted noncommittally and nodded.

"I remember you from my seminar at UVA," he said looking her in the eyes. Her eyes were an interesting shade of blue, almost green. "You grilled me pretty hard about the bureaus civil right record. I gave you an A." She gave him an enduring half smile.

"A minus, sir" she politely corrected. He smiled at her, knowing for sure that with her bluntness and frank nature, she was definately the woman for the task he had in mind.

"Double major: psych and criminology. Graduated magna. Summer internships at the Reitzinger Clinic. It says, when you graduate, you wanna work for me in Behavioural Science." He began, shifting through the unruly deal of his.

"Very much, sir. Very much." She said softly, her eyes shinning with desire. He swallowed thickly, almost regretting what he was going to put her through.

"A job has come up, an errand really. Pretty interesting stuff." He said, trying to remain neutral. "Could be a real help in unsolved cases. Most of them have been happy to talk to us." He paused and looked at her keenly. "Do you spook easily, Starling?" She let out a small laugh.

"Not so far, sir." She said honestly. He nodded, handing her the psych profile. She opened it briefly, her eyes dancing over the questions.

"The one we want most is ... uncooperative." Crawford murmured and there was a tone in his voice that Clarice couldn't decipher. "I would like you to go and try to interview him." She was nodded, her keen eyes looked up at him.

"Who is the subject?" She asked.

"The psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter." He said, watching for a show of fear. But he didn't see one, only interest.

"The cannibal. I remember that case." She said, he was sure she did. Being in college when the case came to light, given her fields of study he was sure she followed every detail of the case.

"I don't expect him to talk to you. But I have to be able to say we tried. So if he won't cooperate, I want just straight reporting. How does he look? How does his cell look? ls he sketching, drawing? If he is, what's he sketching? Here's a dossier on Lecter and a special ID for you. Have your memo on my desk by Wednesday." Crawford rushed through the rehearsed speech, in hopes she didn't pick up what he was hiding from her. She nodded, accepting the hefty file and stood. She was almost out of his office when she stopped and glanced at his crime board.

"Sir?" She began and Crawford felt his heart seize. "But why the urgency? Lecter has been in custody for three years, with no sign of release. Is there ...." She paused chewing on her lip. "Is there a connection between he and Buffalo Bill?" Crawford felt his heart hit the floor. Damn she was perceptive. But he kept his face carefully arranged in a neutral look.

"I wish there were," he said but his words sounded hallow in his own ears. "Now Starling, I want your full attention." She fully turned toward him, clutching the dossier to her chest.

"Yes sir," her sharp eyes training on him in an almost unnerving fashion.

"Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter. Dr Chilton at the asylum will go over all the physical procedures used with him. Do not deviate from them for any reason whatsoever. And you're to tell him nothing personal. Believe me, you don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head. Just do your job, but never forget what he is." His tone was serious and almost haunted, Clarice felt shiver and thrill run through her blood.

"And what is that?" She asked.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"A monster," the word came from the greasy doctor who ran the asylum that Lecter had been imprisoned in. Clarice had to fought back the snort that she felt. This man in front of her, with his high and mighty attitude seemed to fit the bill as well. "A pure psychopath. So rare to capture one alive. From a research point of view, Lecter is our most prized asset." Clarice bristled at the notion that Lecter was a possession and not a person. Killer or not, he was a person.

"We get a lot of detectives here, but I can't ever remember one as attractive." Chilton's voice took on a tone that made Clarice's stomach turn but she kept the smile on her face. "Will you be in Baltimore overnight? Because this can be quite a fun town if you have the right guide." The urge to gag nearly over whelmed her but she smiled as sweetly as she could. 

"I am sure this is a lovely town, sir." She said. "But my instruction are to speak with Lecter and report back this afternoon." Clairce had started her day very early, driving from Quantico to the Baltimore State Forensic Hospital. The drive hadn't been bad, mostly because she started at 4 a.m. so it only took her 105 minutes but she was sure the drive back would be at least two hours. Chilton's face fell at the dismissal. He stood up and came around the desk, taking her hand. 

"Well then, let's get this over with." He sounded put out now. Clarice gritted her teeth but murmured a thank you. She followed Dr. Chilton through the hospital as he prattled on but she did not pay attention. She was some what distracted by the skirt suit that Crawford had requested she wear. She hated skirts and heels but he had said that she was representing the bureau and must look the part. Next time she would insist on a tasteful pant suit. 

"We've tried to study him, but he's much too sophisticated for the standard tests. Oh, my, does he hate us! He thinks I'm his nemesis." Chilton paused then and glanced her over again, making her skin crawl. "Crawford's very clever, isn't he, using you?" Clarice started for a moment and stared at him.

"What do you mean, sir?" She inquired.

"A pretty, young woman to turn him on. I don't believe Lecter's seen a woman in years. And are you ever his taste! So to speak." Clarice bristled and couldn't hold back her comment.

"I graduated from UVA, Doctor. It's not a charm school." Her voice was harsh and Chilton's eyes turned cold.

"Good. Then you should be able to remember the rules. Do not touch or approach the glass. You pass him nothing but soft paper. No pencils or pens. No staples or paperclips in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier. If he attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it. Do you understand me?" Chilton's tone was condescending but she responded anyway.

"Yes, I understand, sir." She said through clenched teeth.

"I'm going to show you why we insist on such precautions." He paused, considering her for a moment. "In July, he complained of chest pains and was taken to the dispensary. His restraints were removed for an EKG. When the nurse leaned over him, he did this." The picture was of a man's ravaged face. Clarice did her best not to flinch. 

"The doctors managed to reset his jaw, more or less, save one of his eyes. Lecter's heart rate never got above 50. Even when he ate the man's tongue." Clarice knew Chilton was trying to shock her but she would not be moved. They stepped into an elevator and Chilton hit the letter B.

"I keep him down here." Chilton made a move to step out of the elevator but Clarice put a soft hand on his arm. 

"Sir, If Lecter feels that you're his enemy, then maybe we'll have more luck if I go in by myself. What do you think?" She asked in her sweetest tone. Chilton looked ruffled and a bit annoyed. 

"I think you might have suggested this in my office and saved me the time." He said, clearly perturbed. 

"Yes, sir, but then I would have missed the pleasure of your company." She did her best to sooth his ego, which she truly didn't cared nothing for. He wasn't convinced. He snorted and turned to the guard.

"Bring her out when she is finished." The guard, a kindly looking, if very large black man nodded. Clarice looked to the guard and behind him. The wall was littered with guns and monitors for the cells. 

"Hello," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Barney." Clarice slipped her hand into his. His grip was warm and firm, comforting. 

"Clarice Starling." She returned the grip and greeting in kind. 

"Did he explain the rules?" Barney asked, she nodded. 

"Yes, sir." She glanced at the cameras again. A lonely chair sat at the end of the walk. 

"You can hang your coat up there, if you like." He point to a rack nor far from her. 

"I will thank you." She slipped her coat off, placing the brief case on the ground. The long jacket was heavy and hot, thankfully her suit jacket was a thinner material. "He is there, in the last cell. Stay to the right and you will be fine." Clarice adjusted her hair almost self consciously. Her heart was thundering in her chest.

"Stay to the right," she murmured. Barney patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"I put a chair out for you. You will be just fine. I will be watching." He said, motioning to the wall of monitors. 

"Thank you, sir." She gave him a genuine smile. "You've been very kind." She stepped through the open gate and slowly walked down toward Lecter's cell. She put one foot in front of the other, concentrating on not tripping in her stupid heels. 

"I can smell your cunt!" Hissed the last prisoner in the cell before Lecter's. She shot the man a scolding look. He was gangly and his hair was a matted mess, his gnarled teeth nashing at her. She walked on and nearly tripped over her feet. 

The man standing straight in the cell in front of her was gorgeous. He stood as if he were greeting her at a formal event instead of standing in a prison cell. She stood so very still for a moment, imaging that she looked like a wide eyed doe in the gaze of some terrible predator. His raven black hair was pulled tightly back at the base of his skull, though a few strand were rebellious around his face. His features were sharp, high cheek bones, a pointed strong chin, a square shaven jaw. But it was his eyes that were most unnerving. They were a pale ice blue and unblinking as they drank her in. Unlike the gaze of Chilton, Lecter's gaze felt soft and mildly invasive. But Clarice didn't mind.

"Dr. Lecter," she stammered. "Good morning, my name is Starling. Clarice Starling. May I speak with?" The more she spoke, the more she felt her confidence returning. 

"You are one of Jack Crawford's, aren't you?" His voice was a deep timber and Clarice just resisted the shiver. And his question wasn't really that, it was more of a statement. 

"Yes sir, I am." She said proudly. He smirked at her and it made her heart thump inside her chest. 

"May I see you credentials?" He request was so polite.

"Certainly, sir." She pulled it out of her jacket pocket and held it up next to her face. His eyes were latched there, cause her cheeks to flame.

"Closer please," she extended her arm toward the glass. "Closer..." He purred, she took two halting steps toward the glass. He murmured an approval as she stepped closer and his eyes wandered her face before briefly glancing at her ID.

"That expires in one week." He observed, eyes back on her face. He smiled oddly and it sent a thrill through her system. "You are not a real agent, are you?" 

"I am still in the academy." She responded, folding up the ID and placing it back in her pocket. Lecter let out a soft sound of astonishment. 

"Jack sent me a trainee?" His use of Crawford's name sounded as if they were on intimate terms. Amusement also laced his response. 

"Yes sir, I am a student. I'm here to learn from you, perhaps you can decide yourself if I am qualified." She replied bluntly and he rewarded her with a dazzling smirk. 

"That is very slippery of you, Agent Starling." He tsked but seemed to be very amused. "Please, sit." His fluid motion toward the chair was startlingly graceful.

"Thank you, sir." Clarice said, sliding down into the folding chair. She placed the brief case next to her and crossed her ankles, sitting much like a child student. 

"Now then," Lecter said, eyes never leaving her face. "What did Miggs say to you?" Her brows drew together in confusion. 

"I'm sorry, sir?" She asked.

"Multiple Miggs in the next cell." Lecter motioned to the stone wall to his right. "He hissed something at you as you passed. What was it?" His voice had to oddest inflections. She narrowed her eyes toward Miggs' cell. 

"He said," she began not really wanting to say it. "I can smell your cunt." She decided that truth was best with Lecter. His eyes glittered then but whether it was amusement or distain for his hall mate, she wasn't sure. His eyes never left her face as she talked. 

"I, myself, can not." He said matter of factly. Clarice felt that shiver threaten again but tampered it down as he took a step closer to the glass. He tilted his head up, exposing the strong cords of his neck muscle. He took a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring. 

"You use Evyan skin cream." He tilted his head back again, taking another deep breath. "And sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps. But not today." She swallowed thickly as his too intense gaze settled on her again. 

"I...I was told not too." She confessed, not sure why she had to say that. He smiled, almost kindly at her, like that pleased him so how. To distract them both, she point to the sketching on his walls. "Did you draw that, doctor?" She asked, he allowed the distraction and turned, exhaling a sigh.

"Aye, yes." He said. "That is a view of the Duomo seen from the Belvedere." He stated and turned her sound of appreciation. 

"Italy." She said matter of factly. He smiled at her, a true smile and it dazzled her.

"Do you know Florence?" He asked. She shook her head, blushing again. 

"No, but I would like to go someday." For a moment they just looked at each other. "All that from memory, sir?" She asked after the silence became too tense. 

"Memory, Agent Starling, is what I have in this place instead of a view." He stated it with an almost sad tone. Clarice fumbled with the brief case.

"Perhaps you would care to lend us your view on the questionnaire." She said clumsily. He eyes said he saw it and he tsked at her again. 

"Oh no no no." He shamed her. "You were doing fine. You had been courteous and receptive to courtesy. You had established trust, with the embarrassing truth about Miggs. And now this ham-handed segue into your questionnaire. It won't do, simply won't do." Clarice bristled at his comment. 

"I am only asking you to look at it, sir." Her voice was hard as steel. "You either will or you won't." He looked very amused at her annoyance. 

"Jack must be very busy indeed if he's recruiting help from the student body." He said, leaning against the glass, almost taunting her. "Busy hunting that new one: Buffalo Bill. What a naughty boy he is. Do you know why he's called Buffalo Bill?" Clarice nodded. 

"Please tell me. The newspapers won't say." Clarice swallow and he watched her throat work.

"It started as a bad, poorly timed joke in Kansas City Homicide. They said "This one likes to skin his humps." And the media caught it, doing what they do best, they ran with it." She said and his eyes sparkled with undeniable amusement this time.

"Why do you think he removes their skins, Agent Starling? Thrill me with your acumen." She accepted the challenge.

"It excites him. Most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from their victims." She stated. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

"I didn't." He challenged. 

"No. No, you ate yours." She said bluntly. He smiled, amused with her wit and daring. 

"You send that through now." He motioned toward the meal compartment. Clarice stood up and placed the questionnaire in, sliding it through was a resounding clang. He packed it up, eyes still on her as she moved to sit back down. He licked his thick finger and glanced over the questionnaire. He let out a sound of disgust and turned to her. 

"Oh, Agent Starling, you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?" He sneered at her, she looked clearly startled.

"No. No. I thought that your knowledge..." He interrupted her.

"You're so ambitious, aren't you? Do you know what you look like, with your good bag and your cheap shoes?" Her eyes glanced down to the heels she hated. "You look like a rube. A well-scrubbed, hustling rube, with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed: pure West Virginia. What is your father, my dear? ls he a coal miner? Does he stink of the lamp? How quickly the boys must have found you. All those tedious, sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars, while you could only dream of getting out, getting anywhere, getting all the way to the FBl." He enunciated the last letters, his eyes flaring wide with each one. Clarice could feel her renowned temper flaring.

"You think you see a lot, Doctor. But are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? What about it? Why don't you look at yourself and write down what you see? Or maybe you're afraid." She spat back at him, eyes ablaze as she stood up. His eyes danced with amusement as he dropped the questionnaire back into the meal tray. 

"A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti." He was trying to shock her but her temper was too high for her to care. He slammed the tray through but she didn't flinch.

"You fly back to school now, little Starling." He said, turning his back on her."Fly, fly, fly." He fluttered his hands in an absurdly graceful movement. Clarice gathered her things and began to move stiff legged back toward Barney and fresh air. 

"I bit my wrist so I can die." Miggs' broken voice drew her attention, he was laying naked on his cot. "Look at the blood!" He flung his wrist out at her and hot semen splattered across her face, she let out an indigent curse and began to quickly wipe it away with her sleeve.

"Got ya!" He shouted dancing around on this cot naked. The other prisoner began to shout but it was Lecter's cry she heard. 

"Agent Starling! Come back!" He cried, and for a moment she debated not turning back. "Agent Starling! Agent Starling!!" She dashed back to his cell, leaning against the very spot of glass he was wiping the last of the semen from her furious face. 

"I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy such as that is unspeakably ugly." He leaned closer to her face, his eyes searching her for any injury.

"Then do this test for me." She pressed. He shook his head. 

"No, but I'll give you a chance for what you love most." His eyes sparkled with knowledge.

"And what is that?" She challenged. 

"Advancement." He stunned her with that acute observation. "Listen carefully. Look deep within yourself, Clarice Starling. Go seek out Miss Mofet, an old patient of mine. M-O-F-E-T." She opened her mouth to object but he place his hand over the glass. "I don't think Miggs could manage again so soon, even though he is crazy. Go!" He shouted. 

"Go now!" His voice was forceful and felt like a push, Clarice Starling dashed out of the asylum without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Clarice felt the tears running down her face as the memory over took her on her drive back to Quantico. The house was at the end of a long dirt row and painted bright yellow. Her mother had loved the lively color of it. But all she had left of the mother was a faded yellow house and a small bottle of French perfume. Yet she had her daddy. She heard the gravel in the drive way crunching under the tires, she snuck out of the door, trying to catching him by surprise. His back was to her as he waved at the neighbor.

"Hey Bill," he called with a wave, his brown bag lunch in his hand. He leaned down to grab his hat. His close cropped brown hair was a feature Clarice shared. She snuck closer to him, the yellow star shinning on his Marshall's car. He spun so quickly it startled her for a moment.

"Daddy!" She called out, racing into his arms.

"Hey baby girl!" He scooped her up and she could feel the butt of his gun against the underside of her leg. 

"Did you catch any bad guys today, daddy?" She asked, clearly enthused. He laughed whole heartedly and set her down. 

"Naw darlin'." He drawled. "They got away today." He took her hand as they walked into the house. 

"Shucks daddy!" She said, the sound of the slamming screen door ending the memory. Clarice wiped the tears off of her face as she parked in the academy parking lot. She took a few minutes to arrange herself, no good showing weakness here. She and the other women already had a hard time proving their worth to their male counter parts. 

With her thoughts and self collected, she headed to her shared room with Ardelia to write her report to Crawford and have it on his desk by the morning. She wrote in great detail about her experience with both Dr. Chilton and Lecter, she included the assault from Miggs and Lecter's response. She emphasized the importance of his words that they check into his old patient Mrs. Mofet. She had it delivered to his office while she went for a night run, to hopefully clear her head. The night air was cold and clear against her skin and in her lungs. It felt good, grounding, clearing her mind of the days events.

She returned to her room to shower and sleep. Tomorrow class wouldn't wait. The academy was still going on and Lecter aside the FBI wouldn't be put on hold for her wild emotions. So she slept, long and hard. Her alarm jolting her out of a strange dream that held ice blue eyes and an oddly soothing voice. 

The door burst open and she and her partner were in the door. The man was standing in front of them with a gun, Clarice trained her gun on him. Tunnel vision, her instructor called it. 

"Drop the gun!" She ordered in a clear voice, the instructor did just that. "Turn a rounds, hands behind you, thumbs up!" The instructor did as instructors. Clarice holstered her dummy gun and pulled out her cuffs, when she was getting ready to reach the instructor another put a gun to the back of her head. She let out a groan of frustration. 

"You're dead, Starling." He turned "Johnson, good entry. Starling, where is your area of danger?" Clarice was kicking herself. 

"The corner." She responded, still kicking herself. 

"Did you check it?" He asked, not scolding her but reminding. 

"No," she replied. 

"That is why you are dead. Don't get tunnel vision, trust your partner. Check your danger zones." He motioned for a reset and they ran it again. Clarice got it right that time, trusting her partner to handle the guy in the center of the room, while she handled the one in the corner. This time during her lunch she did research and made a few calls. Something Lecter had said was stuck in her brain and she couldn't get it out until she solved it. She scanned through news paper articles about Lecter, though in truth she knew the case pretty well but she hadn't know just how renowned Lecter had been. He had lived a life of luxury and privilege, thanks in part to some of his wealthier clients. He also gave quite a bit of his earns to charities across Maryland. 

"Baltimore directory?" Came the voice over the phone.

"Yes, I am looking for a self storage unit." Clarice said into the receiver. The operator snorted as if annoyed. 

"The name, ma'am?" The voice was definitely annoyed. Clarice's eyes danced over her transcript of Lecter's last words to her.

"Yourself?" She almost felt silly, thinking that Lecter was probably in his cell laughing at her gullibility.

"One moment please, I will connect you." Clarice's heart sped up in her chest. Holy shit, she hadn't thought there was actually something there. But then again maybe Lecter did want to help. In his own twisted, puzzles way. But Clarice felt a thrill in her blood as the phone rang. 

"Your self storage, how can I help you?" Came a bored man's voice. 

"Yes, hello. I am wondering if there is a unit there. The name Mofet, M-O-F-E-T." The thrill in her blood was growing.

"We can't just answer those questions." Said the voice. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to mention that I work for the FBI. Do you need my badge number?" Clarice said.

"No, ma'am." The voice seemed a bit more excited. "Give me a moment and I will look." The line went silent and Clarice could barely hear the person shifting through papers on the other line. Clarice had her pen posed and ready.

"Ma'am?" The voice reappeared. 

"I'm still here." She responded. 

"I have a unit here, rented by a Miss Hester Mofet. It was paid for in advance for 10 years." The voice confirmed. Clarice felt her heart begin to thunder in her ears. 

"And how many years has it been?" Clarice was tediously scribbling notes. 

"Five years ago." So right before Lecter's crimes came to light. Clarice thought.

"Could I have your address please?" She jotted down the address as he spoke it. "Thank you, sir. You will be hearing from us." She hung up the phone just in time for Ardelia to find her, ready for their review run. 

The run went by quickly as they quizzed each other on the numerous rules and allowances of the FBI protocols. Clarice also went over some of the stuff Lecter had said to her and what she had found. Ardelia was just as excited as Clarice was. This was the realest thing they had in the academy. Most of their classes where case law, case study, and tactics. Clarice rushed through her post run shower, ready to head out for more research but when she got out, Ardelia held out the phone for her. 

"The guru." Ardelia said as she handed to receiver to Clarice. 

"Hello?" She said, using a towel to dry her hair. 

"It's Jack." Came the voice through the phone. "Miggs is dead." Clarice felt her knees give out and she sat with a huff on the bed. 

"Oh?" Was all she could say. 

"They heard Lecter whispering to him all afternoon and Miggs crying. They found him at bed check. He'd swallowed his own tongue." Clarice felt two very distinct emotions run through her system. One she was ashamed because there was a part of her that was happy. He had gotten what he deserved. The other part was both horrified and mystified. Why would Lecter do that? 

"Starling?" Crawford's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. 

"I'm .... I'm still here, sir." She responded. "I don't know how to feel." Crawford made a sympathetic sound.

"You don't have to feel any way about it. Lecter did it to amuse himself, I'm sure. Look, I know it got ugly yesterday, but you mentioned a name at the end: Mofet. Any follow-up on her?" Clarice was kind of surprised he had to ask, she thought for sure he would have jumped on that little nugget.

"Well, Lecter altered or destroyed most of his patients' histories, so there's no record of anyone named Mofet, but I thought the "yourself" reference was odd for Lecter to use, so I called Baltimore directory and there's a "Your Self" storage facility right outside of downtown Baltimore, sir." Clarice explained. "There is a Unit that was leased for ten years, pre-paid in full. The contract is in the name of a Miss Hester Mofet." Something tickled the back of Clarice's mind as she said the name out loud. Something about that name was nagging at her. 

"How long ago was it rented?" Crawford asked. 

"Five years, sir. To my knowledge, no one has been in that unit since it was rented." She replied. Crawford made a sound in the back of his throat.

"Alright. I will call the Baloitmore office and get it set up for you tomorrow. Will that be doable?" Crawford was trying to be conscious of her academy schedule. 

"Tomorrow is fire arm qualification, I should be free for the afternoon." Clarice may have over estimated her fire arm proficiency but she also didn't want to make her future boss wait long. 

"Great. I will get things arranged for you. Go straight for the storage place after qualifications." He didn't wait for her affirmative before the line went dead. Clarice could feel the building excitement of the chase in her veins. This was the part she knew she would like. She was so thrilled that the chase was on that she dreamed again of long raven black hair and ice blue eyes. Awaking with a gasp when the alarm blared in the morning. 

Clarice focused on the feel of the gun in her hand. She knew from experience that the instructors liked to slip a .357 magnum in with the .38 specials. Just to test one's reactions. At first, the fire arm part had worried her. She hadn't been very good. Her groupings wide and most hitting below the waist. But her instructor had been patient if not persistent. Soon she had tight, chest centered clusters with the occasional head shots. Her instructor had agreed to run weekend drills with her, since she couldn't do it alone. He was a kind retired agent who had been a sniper for the military before he had joined the bureau. He taught her the proper grip, stance, and draw method to make her a near perfect shot. Today her heart raced as she had a chance to show him how good she was. Thanks to his teachings. When the buzzer sounds, she drew her weapon, the grip warm in her palm as she raised it to eye level. She looked down the sights and squeezed the trigger, the gun barked and kicked roughly in her palms but she held tight, releasing the trigger just enough for click of the re engagement. She squeezed again, watching the paper target shred in all the right place. 

"Move!!" Shouted a voice over the loud speakers. With practiced persuasion, the class moved forward, firing and reloading. Clarice had to practice with the quick loader, it was not something she had used before. She hadn't had a teacher growing up. But now she could almost do it with her eyes closed. She slid the six bullets into place, with a quick twist of her wrist they dropped into place. She closed the chamber and fired six head shots.

"Holster!!" Commanded the voice. Clarice holstered her weapon, giving the thumbs up with her left hand. The instructor walked past her to mark off her shots. One grazed over the shoulder but all others had found their marks. He turned with smile on his face and his thumb proudly in the air. Clarice saw that not all of her classmates had passed, so those that had were excused while the course was reset. 

"Good job, kid." Her instructor said as she handed over her weapon and empty re-loaders. She smiled proudly at him. "Indoor range is open at all hours for qualified students." He reminded her and she knew how her nights would end. She only wanted to get better. They would have another qualifying course at the end of the academy so they could carry their chosen weapons. Clarice had yet to choose hers. 

The drive to Baltimore out that same thrill back in her blood, which was already zinging from qualifications. She headed for the address of the self storage unit and found a kindly old man waiting for her. He was dressed rather well for a keeper. She parked her car by the unit and got out, her ID in hand and a flash light. Dusk was coming faster now that fall was almost over. 

"Privacy is paramount to my customers." He complained before introductions were made. Clarice only just resisted rolling her eyes. 

"I won't disturb anything, sir. You have my word." The old man huffed as it began to drizzle. He unlocked the unit and gave it a good yank but the door didn't move. 

"Can I assist you, sir?" Clarice asked, feeling impatience creeping up on her. 

"Why yes, thank you." He moved over and they gripped the handle together, yanking hard but the door only lifts a fraction. "Oh dear, it seems to be stuck." Clarice grunted.

"We could come back tomorrow with my son." He suggested and for a moment Clarice wondered if he knew what she would find. 

"No, thank you. What about him?" She pointed to the driver sitting in the owner's comfortable, warm, and dry car. 

"I would but he detests physical labor." He waved a dismissive hand. 

"I see." Was all Clarice could say. But she would not be deterred and an idea struck her. "Hold on." She said and ran to her car. The drizzle was quickly turning into a down pour. She opened her trunk and pulled out her jack. The door was open just enough for her to get it under. She jacked the door up and it only moved a bit more, enough that she was sure she could slid under. 

"Well, okay then." She said laying on the ground. She had slid up to the door and looked at the owner. She pulled the agent's card out of her hand and held it out for the owner. She gave a nervous laugh as he took the card. 

"That is the Baltimore office. They know I am here with you so if this door falls or something ... else happens, you call them." She explained, the owner nodded and headed for his car. She muttered a thanks and began to shimmy her way under the door. She had her leg under it when she felt a sharp pain. She let out a soft curse and shined the light on the broken metal that had pierced her jeans. Blood oozed from the scratch. 

Once inside the storage room, she shined the flash light all around but nothing seemed to be part of a crime. Unless taxidermy counted. The stuffed animals gave Clarice the shivers. She never liked their dead little eyes. She searched the unit quickly but wasn't sure what she was supposed to find. That was when she saw the American flag dropped over something very large. She pulled the flag and it revealed an old but lovely car. Curious she tried all the doors. Locked. She tried the back and found it open. 

As she pulled it open she realized the car was a very old hearse. Feeling a shiver that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature, she climbed in the back to find a very odd scene. A headless mannequin wearing a formal gown and holding a cigarette greeted her. Beside the mannequin sat a photo album, pulling out a glove Clarice flipped through the photos but nothing struck her as odd. She sat back on her hunches and took a deep breath. That was when she smelled it. It was faint, a chemical smell that was familiar. Yet she couldn't place it. She leaned forward again but it wasn't the mannequin. Her flash light dance through the roomy back until it landed on a strange shape covered in a red cloth. With her heart racing, she pinched the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. It was soft and dusty. She carefully pulled it off the container. The sight that greeted her made her breath leave her in a rush. In the jar of formaldehyde was a head. The make up was smeared on both the inside of the glass and on the face that held the undeniable shadow of masculine hair, thought the long hair and makeup suggested he felt better as a she.

"It is a head, sir." Clarice repeated a their time to Crawford. "In a jar." The other end was silent for a moment longer so she continued. 

"I think Lecter knows who he used to be. A former patient maybe. The name Hester Mofet," she got more excited as she talked. "It is an anagram. It means The Rest Of Me. I am going to see him again." Crawford made a disapproving a sound but didn't argue. Clarice was getting Lecter to reveal things or maybe he was just playing them both. Crawford wasn't sure so he wasn't going to stop her. 

"I will call them." Was all he said before ending the call. The drive was short and filled with rain, that had turned into a down pour when she parked at the asylum. She could see Barney waiting for her at the entrance. He waves when he saw her headlights. 

"Hey Barney," she called as she ran through the sheets of rain. 

"Hey Clarice," he greeted. Taking her soaked over coat as they rushed down toward Lecter's cell. "I will put this in our dryer for you." He offered as she headed down the hall. She murmured her thanks. Lecter's cell was dark and she couldn't see anything. 

"That name Hester Mofet. It's an anagram, isn't it? Hester Mofet. "The rest of me."." The cell was pitch black and she couldn't see anything, so she sat down so close to the glass that her knees were touching it " "Miss the rest of me." Meaning that you rented that garage? Am I right?" The excitement was plain in her voice but she still couldn't see anything. The sound of the meal tray clanging out made her jump. She looked into the tray in confusion. In there was a neatly folded white towel. Clarice started and realized that she must look like a mess. Dripping water all over the floor where she sat.

"Thank you." She murmured and began to squeeze out her hair. 

"Your bleeding has stopped." Came his voice from the darkness. Such a hypnotic voice. Clarice glanced down to the inside of her leg. "And I assume that your fire arm qualification went well today." Clarice had frozen mid movement and stared into the darkness of his cell. She wished she could see his face.

"How did you...?" She began to ask but stopped. He was paid to observe, when he had his practice. "It was just a scratch. And yes, I did well." She answered.

"I would bet you did better than just well." His voice was so soft she almost hadn't heard it.

"Dr Lecter, whose head is in that bottle?" Clarice pushed, folding the towel in her lap, over her cut. 

"Why don't you ask me about Buffalo Bill?" And that was when Clarice saw the gleam from his eyes, far back in his cell. Against the wall if she had to guess. 

"Do you know something about him?" She leaned closer to the glass, focusing on those two glittering spots. 

"I might if I saw the case file. You could get that for me." He was right, of course, she could get it but they were not here because of Buffalo Bill. 

"Why don't we talk about Miss Mofet? Please." She asked. "You wanted me to find him, didn't you?" She was starting to feel a bit unsure as he remained quiet. 

"His real name is Benjamin Raspail, a former patient of mine, whose romantic attachments ran to, shall we say, the exotic." He paused as if he like the taste of the word. The two gleaming eyes tilted. "I did not kill him, if that is what you are thinking. I merely tucked him away very much as I found him, after he'd missed three appointments." It seemed a simple enough explanation. 

"If you didn't kill him, then who did, sir?" Clarice pushed, resting her hand on the glass. 

"Who can say? Best thing for him, really. His therapy was going nowhere." Lecter said it as if Raspail had been a bore.

"His dress, make-up..." Clarice said, trying to puzzle it out. "Raspail was a transvestite?" 

"In life? Oh, no. Garden-variety manic-depressive. Tedious, very tedious." He confirmed what she had already guessed. "I now believe he was a kind of experiment, a fledgling killer's first effort at transformation. How did you feel when you saw him, Clarice?" She shivered at the sound of her name off his tongue. 

"Scared at first, then exhilarated. I...." She paused, not sure if she should tell Lecter. "I like the hunt." He made a very masculine sound from somewhere in the darkness. She felt her mouth go dry for a moment and she had to remind her libido that he was a vicious killer. 

"Jack Crawford is helping your career, isn't he?" It sounded more like an accusation. "Apparently he likes you and you like him." Clarice was taken a back at the venom she heard in his voice. 

"I suppose. I never really thought about it. I do admire him." She clarified. 

"Do you think Jack Crawford wants you, sexually? True, he is much older, but do you think he visualizes scenarios, exchanges, ... fucking you?" That last phrase was so crude and yet the way he said it, it provoked an image of hands tightly wrapped in her hair, lips crushing her under a brutal assault. But it wasn't Jack Crawford's face she saw. 

"That doesn't interest me doctor and, frankly, it's the sort of thing that Miggs would say." She countered. 

"Not any more." His tone was almost wistful. Suddenly the lights flared and Clarice was blinded for a moment. "Thank you, Barney." He murmured, ever the perfect gentlemen to those whom he didn't have a desire to eat. Once her vision cleared she noticed something was off. 

"Where are your drawings?" She asked, eyeing the bare walls. Lecter heaved a sigh. His back flush against the back wall, one long leg out in front of him, the other bent with his arm resting on it. 

"Punishment, for Miggs." He motioned to the muted TV behind her. "Just like the gospel program. When you leave the volume will be turned up again. You see Chilton does enjoy his torments. Petty." Clarice frowned, it didn't seem right. But she refocused on the task at hand. 

"What did you mean by transformation, doctor?" Clarice asked, her eyes searching out his. 

"I have been in this cell for years, Clarice. I want a view. I know they will never ever let me out while I'm alive. I want a window where I can see a tree, or even water. I want to be in a federal institution far away from Dr Chilton and his petty pissing contests." Clarice couldn't blame him for those desires. 

"What did you mean by "fledgling killer"? Are you saying that this person killed again?" She pushed again, moving ever closer to the glass. 

"I'm offering you a psychological profile of Buffalo Bill, based on the case evidence. I'll help you catch him, Clarice." His too intense eyes bored into hers and she felt her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The smirk he gave her said that he could hear it.

"You know who he is, don't you?" The smirk never moved. "Tell me who decapitated your patient, Doctor." She was practically flush against the glass. They both knew she would be in his face if the glass wasn't there. He could almost feel their breath mingling.

"All good things to those who wait." He murmured, enjoying the images dancing in his mind. Oh the things he would really like to do with her, none of which involved killing her. "I've waited, Clarice, but how long can you and old Jackie Boy wait? Our little Billy must already be searching for that next special lady." Clarice's mouth dropped open and in her gut she knew he was right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are lovelies! Sorry it took so long, I have had other story lines bouncing around in my head that needed to be out first. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 4  
The night vision goggles turned everything an eerie green as he waited for It to come home. He had been watching It for a few weeks and knew that today was shopping day. So It would be home soon, in the dark. He smiled a feral smile as he thought about the hunt. The thing that he despised between his legs grew hard, reminding him how much he hated what he was. He could hear the radio before he saw the car. It was singing along with some awful music. Music he would never listen to. He took off the googles and got out, trying to look as weak and miserable as he could. The fake cast he had put on was just icing on the cake. It had gotten out with a bag of groceries and was headed for the door. He picked up the couch again, crushing the thing between his legs, causing him to grunt in pain. It turned her blonde curly haired head to eye him. He tried again to lift the love seat in to the back of his van. It clattered loudly to the pavement. It set down her bag. 

"Sir?" her voice called out. "Can I help you with that?" He smiled to himself, bait taken. 

"Would you?" He asked, making his voice weak and thankful. It stood awkwardly for a moment. "Can you grab that end?" He motioned to the end closest to the van. 

"Sure," It said, grabbing the end. With a grunt they lifted together and she placed the feet on the tail gate. "You look a little handicap." It observed. All the better to look helpless, he thought. 

"Yeah," he said instead, letting out a little laugh. "I was able to get it this far but couldn't get it up into the back." He tried to push the couch and made the feet slip, It was quick enough to catch it before it crashed to the pavement. 

"Would you mind climbing in? I want to push it all the way back so I can close the door." For a moment instinct flared in It's eyes, a warning and for a moment he was worried he would have to chase It down. 

"Alright," It said, climbing in to the back and he heaved a sigh of relief. He pushed the couch against her thighs, making it harder for her to move. 

"That is great," he said, climbing in himself and pushing a little bit more, effectively pinned her. "I really really appreciate this." 

"How's this?" It asked, opening her arms to motion to the couch. He nodded his approval. 

"Its perfect." He said, then he focused his eyes on her. "Say, are you about a size 14?" He asked. He watched the emotions flit across her face. First was confusion, then came embarrassment, and it settled on anger. 

"Excuse me?" It said and he struck out before It could react further. It never saw the blow coming, his casted arm came across It's face with such violence that her head whipped to the side and her body crumpled on to the couch. He hit It a few more times to be sure she couldn't get away. It lay there, moaning in a pained dazed. He flip the collar first to find the beautiful 14 on It's shirt, he cut away the offending material to expose the soft supple skin of It's back. He ran his rough hands lovingly over It's skin. 

"Oh, good." He whispered more to himself, ignoring the awful thing hardening between his legs. "Good, good."

***

Clarice held the bag tightly in her hands, feeling the impact of fists. She bit down on the bite guard to keep her teeth from rattling. The whistle was piercing in her covered ears. She turned ready for another round of punching. The men here weren't taking it easy on her, not that she would have wanted it. All she had to do was wait for her turn to punch the bag. They always liked goading her, telling her she hit like a girl. Which would make her hit harder. She loved the way her body ached after self defense and arrest tactics. The whistle screeched again. 

"Starling!" Her head whipped around to the instructor, who motioned her out of the ring. Confused, she handed off the bag to Cindy. "Pack your go bag. Crawford wants you with him." He motioned with a thumb over his shoulder. Clarice looked very confused. 

"Where, sir?" She asked, pulling off her head gear. 

"Girl's body was found in a river. Somewhere in West Virginia." He chewed his gym loudly. "They think it is Buffalo Bill business." Clarice only nodded and mumbled her thanks as she headed to pack her bag. She had time to jump in a quick shower. She hadn't missed the looks from a few of the jealous students. She had been singled out because of Lecter. According the Crawford, he had formed a sort of attachment to her. Though he wouldn't go into further detail about that. Once showered she packed a quick go bag with three days worth of clothing, just in case. She existed the dorms just in time for a car to pull up. Crawford sat in the passenger seat and one of his agents was driving. She climbed into the back with her go bag and the drive began. 

"He keeps them alive for three days. We don't know why. No evidence of rape or physical abuse prior to death. All the mutilation you see there is postmortem." Jack checked her over to see if any of this was getting to be too much "Okay, three days. Then he shoots them, skins them and dumps them, each body in a different river. The water leaves us no trace evidence of any kind." Crawford had handed her a file almost as thick as Lecter's, turning in his seat to get a better look at her. Clarice opened the file and was greeted by the smiling portrait of a young woman. Her wildly curling brown hair framed her face to her jaw. Clarice suspected it would be much longer with out the perm. Her blue eyes seemed kind as they smiled out of the picture at her. 

"That's Fredrica Bimmel, the first. Her body was the only one he took the trouble to weight down, so actually she was the third girl found." Clarice frowned. The only one weight down. Why the extra effort? "After her, we guess he just got lazy." Clarice unfolded the large map of the Eastern States. Eleven marks covered the map. 

"OK, let's see." Crawford leaned further over the seat to point at the map. "Circles where the girls were abducted. Arrows where their bodies were found. This new one today washed up here." He touch the red arrow, marking the spot where they were headed like some gruesome treasure map.

"Elk River, West Virginia." She read aloud. Crawford nodded. Clarice flipped through the case file, looking at all the details that were not released. If Clarice had to be honest, she had been following the story in the newspaper. But she knew that not every detail was released, to rule out copycat killers who just want attention. 

"Look at him, Starling. Tell me what you see." Crawford asked but there was a challenge in his voice. 

"He's a white male. Serial killers tend to hunt within their own ethnic groups. He's not a drifter. He's got his own house somewhere, not an apartment." Clarice stated with conviction. 

"Why?" Crawford asked. Her eyes looked up into his. 

"What he does with them ... it takes seclusion, privacy. Keeping a girl for three days without anyone noticing, that can not be done in a town home or apartment. There was nothing to suggest that he kept them sedated or confined." Clarice went on. "He's in his thirties or forties. He's got real physical strength, combined with an older man's self-control. He's cautious, precise ... And he's never impulsive. He'll never stop." Of that she was sure, just like Lecter never would have stopped. But there was something different about Lecter's crimes. There was a grotesque form of art to Lecter's kills. This, this was just pure brutality. 

"Why not?" Crawford questioned her but she could see the approving gleam in his eyes. 

"He has a real taste for it now and he's getting better at his work. He hasn't realized yet that it is the killing he likes. What he is doing with these girls, it serves some purpose for his psyche. But it is the killing that he enjoys." Clarice looked at the pictures of the woman after they were discovered. 

"Not bad, Starling. Questions?" He said, turning back around to watch the road. Clarice chewed on her lip for a moment, debating if she should voice what she suspected. 

"Sir, you haven't mentioned anything about the information in my report or Dr Lecter's offer." She watched him take a deep breath, like he needed to gather his thoughts. 

"I'm considering it." Was all he said but Clarice just couldn't shake the feeling that it was not the truth. 

"That's why you sent me in there, isn't it? To get his help on Buffalo Bill, sir?" She pushed, he turned in his seat to look at her. 

"What do you think?" He asked. 

"If that was the case, then I just wish I had known." She said, looking back down at the case file. 

"Clarice, if I had sent you in with an actual agenda, Lecter would have known it instantly. He would have toyed with you then turned to stone." Crawford's attempt to comfort her didn't lessen the sting of his admission. 

"How do you know he isn't?" she asked. Crawford shrugged noncommittally. 

"He gave you a murder victim, who he had not killed himself. Or so he claims. Raspail could still proves useful, Starling. We don't know his game yet, it was just best to be cautious." Crawford looked back at the road and left Clarice to read through all the evidence. It was a long drive and the case file was full of details she didn't know. 

Clarice was so immersed in the details of the Buffalo Bill case that she didn't notice they had arrived until the car jerked to a stop. Clarice looked up and was momentarily startled. They had parked in front of a church that doubled as the corner's office. And for a terrifying moment, Clarice was eleven again. It took her a moment to breathe her way through the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. She got out of the car, carrying her kit and clutching the case file to her chest. Inside the main room was pure chaos, deputies were every where, milling about and talking. 

"Excuse me, Sheriff Perkins. These are the FBI people." called out one deputy as they stood in the center of the room. Crawford took notice of the man and made for him, his hand outstretched. 

"Sheriff Perkins - Jack Crawford, FBl. Special Agent Terry. Agent Starling. We appreciate being invited into your jurisdiction." The Sherriff looked coldly at Crawford's hand.

"I didn't call you." He sneered. "That was the state attorney office." Clarice was stunned at his open hostility. 

"We'll extend you every courtesy but ..." The Sheriff continued but Jack gripped his arm, causing the sheriff to stop mid sentence. 

"Sheriff," Jack leaned closer to the grizzled man. "This type of sex crime has certain ... aspects that I would rather discuss in private." They both looked at Clarice, who did her best to not bristle. She was the lone female in a room filled with men that were nearly twice her size. All eyes looked at her. She could feel the flush slipping up her cheeks. She knew that they would see it as embarrassment but she would be given Crawford a piece of her mind. 

"Oscar, go and fetch Dr. Akins from the chapel." The Sheriff shouted over the sudden chaos that exploded. 

"Starling," Jack called from the direction of the autopsy room. "We are back here." Clarice pushed her way through the crowd of deputies toward the table with a black bag on it. 

"Tell Lamar to come on back when he is finished with his music." The Sheriff added, the deputy nodded and ducked into the ceremony that was being held in the next room. 

"Yeah, yeah!" Jack's voice was trying to shout over the increasing noise. "We'll be sending in a minute. I will need a six way linkup." Clarice had enough when Jack tried to rattle off the cities, he was shouting into the mouth piece with a finger in his opposite ear.

"Excuse me." Clarice said. When no one responded, she cleared her throat. "Excuse me! Gentlemen!" She shouted. The room dropped into a stunned silence. "Officers and gentlemen, listen here now. There's things we need to do for her. I know that y'all brought her this far and her folks would thank you if they could for your kindness and your sensitivity. But please go on now and let us take care of her." All eyes blinked owlishly at her, except for Jack who was smiling broadly at her. 

"Go on now," She made a movement motion with her hands. "Thank you," she breathed as they all began to move for the door. The door closed softly behind the Sheriff, leaving the team of five people in the sudden ringing silence. 

"Okay, good." Jack murmured when the person on the other line gave him the all clear. "Yeah, that's right. Elk River." Jack hung up the phone and turned to his team. 

"Ray." One of the senior agents pulled out a glass cylinder and unscrewed the cap. They each took a bit, wiping it below their noses before passing it along, down the line. Once Clarice took the jar from Jack when he offered it to her. It felt heavier than it should and the menthol it in was already stinging her nose. She took a small amount on her gloved finger and swiped it under her nose. She turned around, carefully screwing the cap back on. She turned her back on the others to hide the shaking of her hands. This was the part she was not use to. Clarice steeled herself, hoping she could prove to these senior agents that she had what it took to be a member of their team.


End file.
